


Truth and Valor

by JonathanAnubian, Shelaar (JonathanAnubian)



Series: The Ties That Bind [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Amnesia, Force Use, Gen, Jedi, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Mercenaries, Psychometry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/JonathanAnubian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/Shelaar
Summary: While on a backwater planet for a job Drogan Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri finds himself in a bizarre situation. After saving a kid from a group of humanoids who'd ganged up on him, he comes to find that the boy has no recollection of anything; even his own name. With no way to know who he is or where he comes from the only thing he can do is keep the boy close until he can remember who he is.The strange things that happen around the boy and his odd insights are only a coincidence. At least that's what Drogan tells himself. Otherwise he'd have to acknowledge that he may have bitten off more than he can chew when he decided to take the boy in.
Series: The Ties That Bind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608202
Comments: 23
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

Laying on his front with a Verpine sniper rifle tucked against his shoulder he followed the first target, finger against the trigger. Taking a slow and easy breath he let it out slowly. Between one heart beat and the next the first body was falling. With the efficiency of long practice he switched targets and dropped the second target before the first even hit the ground. Shuffling away from the edge of the cliff he stood and slung the rifle across his back. Pulling out a small probe droid he tossed it into the air and sent it to take holopics of the deceased as proof of their termination.

Heading back to his ship he dropped into the pilot’s seat and pulled out the datapad connected to the droid. Checking that the targets were easy to identify by their holopics he crossed them off his list and recalled the droid. So far the job hadn’t been too difficult. Normally a couple of politicians and nobles dropping dead would have had someone up his aft by now. Lucky for him there was already a civil war brewing on this dirtball of a planet.

Once the droid was back on board he took off and headed for the last, and most difficult, target. Rumour placed the male Twi’lek out in some old bunker hidden in the rocky canyons outside the largest city. If the intel was right he could be off the planet and heading back to pick up his credits within a day.

Setting the ship down just inside the edge of the treeline he locked down the controls, a handy trick he’d picked up from his sister’s husband, and did a quick once over of his rifle. After a quick meal he walked out into the windy crevices made of crumbling dirt and stone. His cloak threatened to strangle him as the wind whipped it about but he refused to leave it behind. It was far too useful.

Coming closer to the location of the bunker his plan was immediately derailed by the sounds of fighting. Taking a knee he brought up the rifle and peered through the scope. The entire area looked like an insect colony that had been kicked. Keeping low he crept closer to the ledge of the canyon to get a better look. Movement off to his left had him dropping to his stomach and crawling the rest of the way forward. “Shab.” He cursed under his breath.

Below him a group of six humanoids surrounded a child. Kid couldn’t have been older than ten. Blood covered one side of their face and soaked into the left side of their simple shirt. The kid had no weapons and yet they fought tooth and nail. Standing defiant in the face of greater numbers, their attackers all older and much larger. He watched them stagger and knew their strength was fading.

Glancing toward the bunker then back to the kid he growled. Memories of his three nephews and one niece’s smiling faces flashed through his mind and he knew he couldn’t just leave the kid. Mind made up he reached back and grabbed a stun grenade from his belt. Priming it he chucked it behind the group and turned away to brace himself. Screams of confusion and pain were his cue to move.

Hauling himself up he pulled up his rifle and shot two of them in the chest. Slinging it over his back he jumped down. Sliding along the rocks he switched to his pistol and shot the remaining four. Standing with gun in hand he made sure they were all dead before he holstered his weapon. Anyone that ganged up on a wounded kid didn’t deserve his mercy.

Turning to the kid in question he showed his weapon free hands and spoke gently. “Hey there, kid. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” The child, a boy by the looks of it, stared at the bodies around him. His left eye was closed, either due to injury or because of the blood, while his right eye was a deep green. He looked back at the bounty hunter and took a couple steps forward before he started to fall. Moving fast he caught the kid before he hit the dirt. “Talyc haran!”

With a sigh he laid the kid out on the ground nearby and searched the bodies for anything useful. There was nothing that would lead him to the target and he wasn’t enough of a sha’buir to steal from the dead. Picking the kid back up he slung him over his shoulder and started back toward the ship. With an unconscious kid and the area full of enemies his plans were effectively screwed. He’d have to lay low and wait for things to calm down before taking out his target.

He had to dodge a patrol or two on the way back and shot one of the searchers when they practically landed on him from above, but the journey back was otherwise uneventful. Once he was up the ramp and the door sealed behind him he heaved a sigh.

Laying the kid out on one of the bunks he fetched the med kit. The gash on his head wasn’t too bad but it looked like he’d lost quite a bit of blood. For the next standard hour or so he checked over the kid for any other less obvious injuries, cleaning and tending to any he found. Now that he had a better chance to look him over he thought the kid might be a little older than ten. He looked pretty small either way. Beneath the dirt and blood his hair was a surprisingly bright blonde, almost silvery in color. His skin was milky white, at least the places that weren’t burnt by the harsh sun. When he was finished he tucked the kid in and headed to the cockpit to relocate the ship. Even if no one had come knocking he didn’t want to push his luck.

Kicking back at the small table in the back of the ship he pulled apart his rifle and gave it a thorough cleaning. With the kid still unconscious he decided a shower and some caf was in order.

After four hours he decided he might as well rest. If the kid woke up while he was sleeping he trusted that he could overpower him in the event the kid ended up being hostile. Though he highly doubted it.

When the kid didn’t wake up after ten hours he began to grow concerned. The boy was still alive, he had a pulse and didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, but he just wouldn’t wake up. He was loathe to give the kid any stimulants in case he was allergic to something. After fifteen hours he wondered if he should find a local doctor. By twenty hours he grabbed his kit and was preparing to go find a doctor, even if it left his ship undefended. Checking on him one last time he noticed the boy stirring and let out a relieved sigh. _‘Thank the stars.’_ He thought to himself as he helped the boy sit up and drink some water.

Seeing his eyes properly for the first time he sucked in a breath. The right eye, the one he’d seen earlier, was a vibrant green. While the left was a deep, icy, blue. He’d never seen someone with two different eye colors before. It was unsettling. Like two people staring back at him. The boy lifted his hand and probed the wound on his head, hissing and cringing in pain. “Woah, careful. I found you in a pretty bad way earlier.” The boy frowned at him slightly, looking confused. “What were you doing out here?”

He tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could, speaking to the boy as if he were family. The boy slowly shook his head. “I don’t… know.”

“Alright then. How about a name? I’m Drogan, what about you?” The child sat there for a moment before he grimaced in confusion.

“I… I don’t…” Eyes wide the kid looked up at him in confusion and fear. “My name… what is it? Why don’t I… who am I?” Panic set in and his breathing grew frantic as he clenched the blankets with one hand and reached up to his head with the other.

“Udesii ad’ika, udesii.” Sitting on the edge of the bunk he reached over and rubbed a hand on the kid’s back. “Calm down, kid. Deep breaths. You’re okay.” The boy seemed to respond to the firm commands well, taking a long, slow, breath. It took nearly ten minutes for the boy to finally calm down. They both devolved into an awkward silence. Neither sure what to say or do.

“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I need to go into town to grab a few things. I want you to stay here. The fresher is over there if you need it but I want you to stay in bed as much as possible. I won’t be long.” He stood and picked up his helmet from the table nearby, slipping it over his head. “Are you hungry at all?” The boy shook his head slowly and lay back down, watching him with those bright eyes. It was a far cry from his sister’s boisterous children.

“I’ll be back soon. Maybe by then you’ll remember your name and can tell it to me.” The boy frowned, looking away. Drogan sighed and headed to the nearby hatch. This situation was a little more complicated than he had planned for. Looks like he’d be finding a doctor after all.

 _‘Well, it could be worse.’_ He flinched the moment he thought it. _‘Shabla di’kut!’_ He cursed himself. He wasn’t the most superstitious man but he just knew something was going to go horribly wrong. It was only a matter of time now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Shab- Effectively 'Fuck'  
> Talyc haran!- Bloody hell!  
> Sha’buir- Dictionary says 'jerk' but 'bastard' makes more sense to me.  
> "Udesii ad’ika, udesii."- Calm down, child, calm down.  
> Shabla di’kut!- Fuckin idiot!


	2. Chapter 2

Standing behind the doctor as the woman looked over the boy’s injuries Drogan tried his best not to hover. Behind his helmet his eyes followed her carefully as she worked, one of his hands placed idly near his blaster just in case. The planet was experiencing civil unrest and was in the midst of war. Anyone and everyone was his enemy here. Especially after the string of assassinations he’d performed.

Stepping away from the boy the doctor gave him a look and he motioned for her to precede him down the ladder, away from the child. Once they were alone she eyed him carefully for a moment before speaking. “What kind of dangerous situation did you put that child in?” Her voice was low but her tone was clearly agitated.

“I didn’t.” Was his firm reply. “I found the kid being ganged up on. He was already bleeding and staggering on his feet when I saved him.” The doctor looked skeptical for a moment before she decided to accept his words as truth.

“The blow to his head has caused some damage. His motor skills, speech center, and ability to gain new memories is unaffected. But anything he knew before is gone. It could be temporary or permanent. It would be best to take him back to where he came from. Familiar surroundings might prompt his memories to return.” Drogan scowled. If he knew where the kid had come from he’d have taken him home already.

“Thanks for your help.” He tossed her the credits he owed and walked her off his ship. Once she’d taken off back toward town he closed the hatch and slipped his helmet off. To a scared kid who hadn’t been raised Mandalorian he was sure the helmet would be intimidating. Clipping it to his belt he went back to the kid and saw him picking at the threads of the blanket, looking dejected. He grimaced, unsure what to do. He had a job to finish but he didn’t want to bring the kid into a dangerous situation. If he somehow ended up dying then the kid would be truly alone.

Deciding to let the kid have a moment to himself Drogan went to the cockpit, sat in the pilot’s chair, and rubbed at his forehead. He was starting to get a headache.

Going over all the information he had he decided it would be best to get the job out of the way as quickly as possible and leave the planet. He could decide what to do from there.

“Sir?” Jumping he grabbed his blaster and turned toward the wide eyed stare of the boy. Relaxing he released his weapon and ran a hand through his short brown hair.

“Careful, kid. I could have shot you.” It was a bad idea to startle a Mandalorian when he was in enemy territory. The boy was lucky he was trained to look before pulling the trigger.

“I’m sorry, sir...” The boy looked sheepish and apologetic as he shuffled on his feet. Drogan studied him for a moment. There was no way he could have missed the boy coming into the room. Even with the door open the plating on the floor would have made some noise. The ship was pretty old.

“What is it?” He finally asked. The child looked back up at him.

“I’m hungry.” He spoke as if he was embarrassed, as if he didn’t want to bother the man who’d saved him with something as inconvenient as hunger. It was endearing as hell.

“Alright kid, I’ll grab you something.” According to the doctor the kid was human so he could eat pretty much anything Drogan had on hand. He’d have to watch out for any allergies. The kid wouldn’t be able to warn him if he had any.

“Thank you sir!” Was the cheerful reply. Standing he reached toward the boy and ruffled his hair. It was a habit from home, when he interacted with his nephews. He never did it to his niece, she would kick him where it hurt if he did. The boy’s reaction was a bit odd in his opinion. From the corner of his eye he saw the kid reach up and touch his head, radiating confusion. As if he wasn’t used to being touched.

Pulling out some haashun he let it soak while he grabbed some of the fruit he’d bought from the locals. They’d assured him it was edible for humans and seeing as they were human themselves he’d taken them at their word. Once the bread was at the right consistency he called out to the child. “Ad’ika! Come on down here.” The table was large enough for two so he set out the food and waited for the kid.

The boy entered the large open space and looked around curiously before noticing him in the corner and scampering over to sit down. Drogan served the boy first and then himself. The boy thanked him politely before he started nibbling on the bread, looking unconcerned with eating food he may not have ever eaten before.

Taking a bite of the fruit he grimaced. The boy must have noticed because he looked between the fruit and his face. “It’s not bad. Just very sweet.” The boy nodded and took a bite, a look of delight on his face at the soft texture and sweet juice.

For a time the only sounds were the two of them eating. But as time wore on the child kept looking like he wanted to say something. Drogan almost rolled his eyes. “Ask.” He finally said, to the boy’s apparent surprise.

“You called me… ad’ika. Is that… a name?” Oh. Well he hadn’t been expecting that. He didn’t even realize he’d slipped back into Mando’a.

“It’s my native language. It means child or boy.” The look of disappointment on his face made Drogan feel terrible. The kid looked so lost.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I come up with a name for you? Until you remember your own.” He received a bright smile in response. The kid sure was pleased by simple things. Then again if he didn’t remember anything he probably didn’t have any preferences at the moment. He didn’t even know what skills the boy had.

Well there was a thought. He had been so worried about leaving the kid on his own while he went off to do his job but he didn’t even know if the kid was actually defenseless or not. It looked like he had been able to keep those adults at bay, or at the very least outrun them until he’d been cornered. For all he knew the kid could already be half trained and not know it.

Once he’d cleared the table of their meal he motioned for the kid to follow him into the port side cargo hold. It was set up as a training area. “I want to see if your body remembers how to fight.” The kid looked both nervous and excited. At least it was a reaction he was used to. His nephews reacted much the same.

Showing him how to throw a punch he watched the boy copy him. His form was fluid and stance solid. He nodded in approval. “Now a kick.” The child obliged, seeming surprised at how easy it was for him to do. The doctor had been right. His memories might be gone but his body remembered the years of training he’d received. From who or where, Drogan wasn’t sure yet.

Getting the kid into the rhythm of the fight he sped up, using only simple punches, blocks, and kicks. With all of his concentration on Drogan the boy didn’t even seem to notice what his body was doing. It was entirely reactionary and defensive. Good enough.

“Alright, stop.” The kid stepped back and bowed suddenly before he froze. They shared a confused look as the boy straightened.

“I… uh…” He waved the boy’s concern away, the strange behavior didn’t matter at the moment.

“How are you feeling?” The child blinked at him before a thoughtful look came over him.

“A little sore, my head still hurts a little, and I feel dirty.” Drogan realized the kid hadn’t had a real shower yet and felt a bit sheepish himself, though his expression didn’t change.

“Alright, you go wash up. I have some clothes for you to change into when you’re done.” The boy smiled at him and followed him when he headed back toward the cockpit. Drogan heard the sound of the fresher door opening and closing. Sitting in his favourite chair he started going over what he knew of the boy.

 _‘He’s human, well trained, obeys orders with no fuss, is very polite, and walks lightly on his feet.’_ Someone spent a lot of time and effort in raising the boy, that was for sure. Whoever they were, they were probably dead. He doubted someone who cared about the boy would have let him wander around a dangerous area like that without them. The clothes he’d been wearing were very basic and made of a cheaper material. At the most the boy was the son of a wealthy farmer or poor merchant. But that didn’t really explain his training. What farmer or merchant knew that much hand to hand combat? Maybe the kid was from off world…

In any case the kid was under his protection for the moment. He could always search for information later.

He heard the door to the fresher open and turned around to look down the passageway. The boy looked much better than he had earlier. With his hair clean he could now tell that it was an almost perfect white. It came to just below his ears except for a long piece behind his left ear that fell past the shoulder. Looking at the loose strands Drogan got a strange feeling in his gut but he quickly pushed it away.

“The clothes are on the bunk.” The boy nodded and disappeared inside the other room, taking his time.

Drogan stretched, cracking his neck as he did so. What he needed was a good sleep and to plan his next move. He still had one more target to assassinate before he could leave, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any of the credits. That had been the deal. It was all or nothing.

Getting up he walked down the passageway and stopped at the door to the single bunk. He leaned in and spied the kid immediately. “Hey, why don’t you come back down with me and we’ll find you your own room.” The ship itself was a highly customized PB-950 Patrol Boat. The space that had once been used for conferences was split into two rooms. Drogan’s personal bunk and his fresher. The only reason the kid had been allowed up on the control deck was because he had been unconscious and then because he had no idea if letting him move around too much was a good idea. Now that he knew the kid was mostly okay he’d be moving to the main deck.

The boy followed him back downstairs and stood with him in the lounge area. “There’s six rooms down here and you can pick any of them you like.” He pointed toward the doors that lead to each. The boy looked back up the ladder, a slight pout crossing his lips.

“Why can’t I stay up there?” Stars, was he at the mulish and questioning age already?

“Because that is my room. You aren’t allowed on the control deck without me present or my express permission.” The boy grudgingly nodded and turned toward the closest room. Opening the door he peered into the large cabin before stepping inside. Drogan waited by the ladder, leaning against it as he watched the kid explore.

In the end he chose the larger cabin on the port side, the one closest to the galley. As he settled in Drogan looked at the practically empty room and frowned. The kid had nothing on him when he found him. Not even a weapon. It made him feel bad for the boy. Heading to one of the storage rooms he rummaged around for the box he knew was in there. It wasn’t often his sister’s kids came on board but he still had toys for them just in case. Finding the container he hauled it into the bedroom and set it down on the floor.

“Here. Take whatever you like. When I have more time we can go looking for more things for you.” The boy hesitated before coming over and opening the lid. Inside was a set of old Mandalorian action figures, they had been passed down from his grandfather. Each had a different dangerous beast from various planets to hunt. There were a few three-dimensional puzzle games and toy blasters as well. The boy looked at the toys and settled on one of the more complex puzzles and a few of the Mando’ade figurines. By coincidence he picked the exact three figures that Drogan had always loved when he was a kid. The boy looked at them, then at him, then set them on the desk beside his new bed.

“Thank you.” He said, looking a little more at ease in the large room.

“You’re welcome.” They stood there awkwardly in the silence until Drogan cleared his throat.

“I have to go plan out what’s going to happen next. Are you alright in here? I have some holobooks you can read if you like.” When the kid agreed he fetched the few books he had and set them down on the desk for the boy to read.

“I’ll let you know if I have to leave for work.” The boy’s hand paused as he reached for one of the faintly glowing crystalline boards, face turned upward in a silent question.

“I’m a bounty hunter.” The words didn’t seem to mean anything to the boy as he shrugged his shoulders in response. Drogan grumbled under his breath. “Someone pays me money to find other sentients that don’t want to be found, for one reason or another.” Apparently it made sense to the kid as his eyes lit up and he nodded in understanding. Drogan gave him a slightly forced smile as he headed back up to the control deck.

Falling into his chair he put his feet up and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the monitors. Why didn’t he just tell the kid the whole truth? He was a gun for hire, an assassin. He had far more kills under his belt than live captures. It felt almost wrong to keep it from the boy but at the same time he didn’t know if being in the presence of someone who killed for a living would scare the kid or not. He’d have to learn the truth eventually…

_‘Stars, what have I gotten myself into?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Haashun- A Mandalorian made bread. The dough is rolled very thin, to the point where you could see through it when held up to a light source. It is then rolled up and baked dry. To eat it one must first soak it in water to regain it's edible softness.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking with a start as something touched his shoulder Drogan shifted his body further back on his bunk and grabbed the knife from his waist in the same movement. As the light snapped on and his eyes adjusted he saw white hair and two bright eyes watching him. With a curse he shoved the knife back into its sheath and let his body relax. The kid needed a damn bell, he was far too quiet. “What is it?” He croaked, still not quite awake.

“He’s dead.” The words that came out of the child’s mouth made him freeze.

“Who?” The boy shook his head, looking distressed and close to tears.

“I d-don’t know. Th-there was a man… in my dream. His hair was black? He wore clothes like mine. I think… he was yelling? There was a flash of light and then he was just… dead.” Looking the boy over carefully he could see the poor kid was trembling from head to toe. Sliding forward he motioned for the kid to sit next to him. Instantly he had a child plastered to his side, gripping onto his shirt and sobbing. At first he was unsure what to do but after a moment of hesitation he placed a hand on the kid’s head and gently stroked his hair. It was something he’d seen his sister do whenever her kids were frightened or hurt.

It took a while to calm the boy down but no matter what question Drogan asked the answer was always “I don’t know.” It could have just been a nightmare but something told him it wasn’t as simple as that. It was vague but had enough detail that it painted a pretty bleak picture. The kid was absolutely certain that the man he’d seen was dead. Drogan could only assume it was a relative, and that the kid now had one less family member in the world.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” He said gently. The boy looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and Drogan realized the boy would have no idea what that meant.

“It’s Mando’a. It means; they are not gone, merely marching far away.” He thought for a moment about how to explain a concept he’d grown up with to someone who had never heard of it before. “Mando’ade, the people of Mandalore, believe that the dead never truly leave us. As long as we remember them, they are always with us in spirit. It doesn’t make it hurt any less that they are dead, but it helps to know they are never truly gone as so as we keep a piece of them with us.”

The boy was silent while he spoke and scrunched up his face as if he was in pain when he finished. “B-but I don’t remember him.” Well… he wasn’t really wrong. He sighed.

“But you did. You still have your memories, ad’ika. They are just locked away. Whether you remember everything or not you still know that there was someone. As long as you know there was a someone you can hold on to them.” He couldn’t promise the child that he’d regain his memories, the doctor said that he may never get them back. He didn’t want to give the boy false hope.

“That’s true. I guess I know a little more now than I did yesterday.” That was… surprisingly mature for a kid in his situation. The boy was like an open book. Everything he said was just so straight forward and true.

“Haati.” The word escaped him before he could really think about it. But once it was said aloud he felt it was right. The boy looked up at him, disgruntled with the amount of words he didn’t know. Drogan chuckled. “Haat is the Mando’a word for truth. I think Haati would suit you as a name.”

Once the words finally registered the boy beamed at him. “Thank you!” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My name is Haati.” He said, as if to reassure himself.

He huffed and ruffled the boy’s- Haati’s hair. He was glad the kid had calmed down and the nightmare didn’t seem to be bothering him anymore. A yawn tore through him and he heard the boy snicker. Glancing over at the chrono he groaned.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” The boy blushed and nodded, but seemed to hesitate to get up from the bed. With a long suffering sigh Drogan got up and grabbed another blanket from storage. “Go to sleep, ad’ika. I’ll hit the lights.” Haati climbed into the bed and under the blanket. When the kid was well situated he turned off the light and stretched out on the floor. Luckily he’d had the room carpeted a while back when he’d converted the space, so he wasn’t laying on cold hard metal.

“Jate ca, Haati.” He mumbled as he started to drift off.

“Jate ca… buir.” Drogan could have sworn the child said something as he wavered on the edge of sleep, but in the end he let it go.

* * *

Waking up to a stiff back he sat up and stretched. Popping sounds filled the room as his spine settled back into place. Getting up off the floor he looked toward the bed and found it empty. The blanket was tucked in and the pillow placed just so, as if someone had taken the time to fix it. At least the kid was tidy and cleaned up after himself.

After a quick trip to the fresher he slid down the ladder and headed toward the galley, yawning along the way. What he really needed was a cup of caf.

“Oh, good morning! I was going to wake you, but you still looked tired.” Waving at the kid he shuffled over to a cupboard and pulled out some instant caf. He turned to find that the boy had already boiled some water and raised an eyebrow at him. Haati smiled shyly. “I wanted some tea.” Drogan just shrugged and filled his cup. He wasn’t really a talker when he first woke up.

Sitting at the table he was surprised when the boy set a plate down in front of him. Looking at it he could tell it was well cooked and looked perfectly edible, if a bit bland. Taking a bite of what he assumed were eggs he found it pleasant enough. “Tastes good, vor’e.” The boy stood there staring at him for a moment until Drogan’s sleep addled brain caught up with him. “Vor’e, means thanks.” The kid didn’t seem bothered by his curt answer as he nodded before turning to grab his own breakfast. Without another word he sat at the table across from him and began to eat.

They ate in companionable silence. Every once in a while, when the boy seemed distracted, Drogan would study the child across from him. He was a bit of a contradiction. Truthful, skilled, and mature, but also emotionally stilted and unsure. He acted like he had no confidence one moment, as if lost, then did something unexpectedly well the next. He’d probably be confused by the kid for a while until he either got his memories back or made enough new ones that his personality stabilized. It was going to be interesting to watch him grow and change, to say the least.

When he was finished eating he put the dishes in the sink and gave them a quick wash before putting them away. It was an old habit, something he did without thinking.

Turning around he looked at the kid and crossed his arms, uncertain of what to say. It had been almost three days since he’d aborted his first attempt at assassinating his last target. He needed to do some reconnaissance and find out if his target was still hiding in that bunker or if he’d moved shop. But what to do with the boy? He knew the kid could defend himself but he didn’t have a weapon. Could he even shoot a blaster?

“When you’re done meet me in the training room. It’s in the port side cargo bay. You’ll find it easily enough.” He left once the boy acknowledged the order.

Grabbing some of the smaller blasters he owned, ones that could easily be slipped into a belt or boot, he checked to make sure they were in working order and set up a couple of targets. It didn’t take long for the boy to join him.

“Sir?” Turning he held out one of the blasters to the boy.

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot, or remind you if you’ve forgotten that you knew.” He grimaced at how odd that sounded but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He picked up the blaster as if it might bite him, eying it like he might a dangerous animal. Drogan chuckled.

“It’s not going to hurt you, ad’ika.” Standing slightly behind him and off to the left he changed the position of the boy’s hands on the weapon and tightened his hold, making the child grip the weapon firmly. “You want to make sure you hold it properly. This is not a toy. It is a weapon. Make sure you show it proper respect. It is a tool that can kill as easily as it saves. Understand?” Two differently colored eyes went slightly unfocused for a moment and the boy remained silent.

“Haati?” He asked quietly, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He gasped and shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You okay ad’ika?”

“I just… that sounded so… like I’ve heard it before.” He glanced up at Drogan and the man squeezed his shoulder gently in reassurance.

“Then whoever told it to you was a good teacher.” So he may have been trained in firearms after all. For a moment he wondered if the boy might have been raised by a Mandalorian. But he discarded the thought as quickly as it appeared. If the boy had been raised by a Mando’ad then he wouldn’t be so confused by Mando’a. After all he spoke perfect Basic with no issues.

“See the targets I’ve set up? I want to see if you can hit them. Go ahead and fire whenever you’re ready. But if I say stop, you stop immediately.” He left no room for argument. He meant what he said. While he didn’t want to scare the boy he had to ensure he would be obeyed.

Standing back he watched the boy as he aimed the blaster at the closest target. Shifting one foot back slightly he turned his body. ‘He’s making himself less of a target and stabilizing his aim.’ With a couple of slow breaths Haati seemed to relax into the stance and fired a shot. Even with the more sophisticated blasters there was a slight recoil. The kid didn’t seem surprised or phased by this. Just took aim at a farther target and took a shot.

When he’d hit each target, except the farthest one, the boy lowered the blaster, taking his finger from the trigger and aiming it at the deck. “Kandosii! Very well done. It looks like you have some training after all.” The boy stared at the gun in his hand, a conflicted look on his face.

“It doesn’t feel right.” He muttered.

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“The blaster. The weight feels all wrong.” That gave him pause. Maybe the kid was used to larger guns with a longer range. He’d have to experiment with that later.

“I don’t care if it feels strange. From now on I want you to keep that on or near you at all times. I won’t always be here to save you if someone attacks. You need to be able to protect yourself.” It was harsh, he knew. But if it kept the boy safe and alive he’d take off the kid gloves in an instant.

“…yes sir.” Haati looked disgruntled but he didn’t disagree with him. It was a start.

Once he’d grabbed the kid a holster for the blaster and shown him how to put it on and take it off he let the kid go back to his room to play for a bit while he tried to call some of his contacts. He needed more information on the bunker his target was hiding out in. Or if the guy was scheduled to be somewhere in the near future.

By the time he was finished checking his contacts and cross checking information it was getting late in the evening. He’d completely forgot about eating a mid-day meal. Oh well. Hopefully the kid grabbed himself something.

Down on the bottom deck he wandered into the kitchen and looked over the supplies. He wondered if he should ask Haati to help him pick out something to eat, since the kid could clearly cook. Walking to the kid’s room he saw that the door was left open and could hear the boy talking out loud. He slowed and leaned against the wall, listening in.

“…I want to be, but I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back?” That didn’t sound like someone talking to themselves. Who was the kid talking to? “Okay, it’s his ship so he has to come back. But what if he… dies? I don’t want to be alone!” The boy paused then sighed. “Okay, Dral.”

 _‘Dral? Who the hell is Dral?’_ Coming around the door he saw Haati sitting on the floor, cross legged with his back to the bed. In his hands was one of the action figures, the other two were on the floor in front of him. “Haati.” He called softly, trying not to startle the kid. He failed. The boy jumped slightly and looked up at him with big eyes.

“Y-yes sir?” He sighed.

“My name is Drogan. I don’t mind if you use it.” The child flushed slightly. “Who were you talking to?” The child was pretty honest so he suspected he’d blurt out the truth when asked.

“Dral.” He held up the dark blue action figure, looking embarrassed.

“Dral? You named him?” The boy was puzzled and shook his head. Written on the sole of the boot was the name Dral. It was then that Drogan remembered the action figure had once belonged to his father. Now it made sense. One of them should have his own name on the sole of the boot. Each action figure had been bought by the father and given to the son when they were a young child. Starting with his great, great, grandfather. His sister’s boys had their own at home but Drogan had inherited the toys for his own children, whenever he got around to having them.

“Dral is my father’s name. Dral’cabur. That was his when he was a boy.” Haati looked at the action figure and smiled.

“What about this one?” He held up the dark brown action figure with white stripes down the left side of the helmet and continuing down the chest plates.

“Dha’kal, my grandfather.” He said as he crouched down. Picking up the green action figure he grinned. “And this one was mine.” Haati smiled.

 _‘I’ll need to get him his own. I wonder what color it will be…’_ He blinked and looked away from the boy, frowning to himself. Haati was not his child. He felt responsible for him because he’d saved him but the child probably still had a home somewhere.

Getting up he motioned behind him. “I was thinking about dinner. Want to help me pick something out?” The boy put the action figures back on the table and happily followed him into the galley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> “Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.”- Not gone, merely marching far away.  
> Ad'ika- Child.  
> Haat- Truth.  
> Jate ca- Good Night.  
> Buir- Parent. Mando’a has no gendered language, but in this case it would mean Father since Haati is referring to Drogan.  
> Kandosii!- Good job, well done, amazing!  
> Mando'ad and Mando'ade- Mandalorian singular and Children of Mandalore/Mandalorians plural.


	4. Chapter 4

Drogan woke feeling surprisingly well rested. But then it was probably the first full nights rest he’d had in the last week. The new morning routine he and his guest had fallen into was pretty simple. Get up, get cleaned and dressed, then head to the galley for breakfast. Afterward he’d drill Haati in hand to hand combat and target practice with his blaster. The boy was quite studious and absorbed everything like a sponge, even if he still looked uncomfortable every time a blaster was placed into his hands.

At mid-day they’d take a break to have a meal together before Haati went back to his room to read and play with the action figures. Drogan would use that time to check his contacts for any new information until dinner. When Haati would come into the galley and help him cook their evening meal. They’d sit and chat about simple things, like the earlier training or anything that the boy was reading. He had a lot of questions and each day became asked more of them as he became more settled and confidant. The lad was even picking up some Mando’a through osmosis alone it seemed.

Today, though, would be different. For the first time since he’d stumbled upon the boy his last target would be outside the bunker. Apparently the male was supposed to be making a speech to rouse his supporters, and wouldn’t let a ‘threat to his person’ deter him. Drogan wasn’t sure what this ‘threat’ might have been, it certainly wasn’t him, but he was glad the male wasn’t going to let it stop him. It would be much easier to kill him if he was in the middle of a speech than it would be to bust into the bunker on his own.

In full armor he sat at the table checking over his rifle. It was much earlier than their usual start time so he was a bit surprised to see Haati come into the galley. The lad was rubbing at his eyes and looking at him curiously. “Jate vaar’tur, Haati.” He said with a nod, his hands still working even as his attention was diverted. His father had taught him from a young age how to check and clean his weapons blindfolded and under fire. There was no way he was going to make a mistake just because he was a little distracted.

“Jate vaar’tur… Drogan.” He hid his smile as he turned back to his favored weapon. It had taken the better part of a week for him to convince the lad to call him by name, ratehr than ‘sir.’ There was a little hesitation there and he couldn’t help feeling like the lad wanted to call him something else, but he ignored it for the moment.

“What are you doing?” Haati asked as he slid onto the chair next to him, rubbing his sleep filled eyes.

“Checking over my kit to make sure it all works before I head out.” The lad froze so completely that it was almost disconcerting. Before he could ask he seemed to sink into the seat suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Drogan looked at the lad and swore Haati was almost pouting in concern.

“To do my job, ad’ika. No need to worry, I won’t be gone more than half the day.” He reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair with a small smile. “Less if everything goes well.” The boy blushed faintly at the affection he was being shown, glancing away as if embarrassed. Drogan supposed he was at that age. The age where boys still craved affection and attention from male relatives but wished not to be treated as children any longer. He chuckled.

“Feel free to go back to bed. I’ve already eaten breakfast in preparation for my departure.” Even as he said that he knew the lad wouldn’t go. There was a stubborn look around his eyes and the way he sat that told Drogan the boy would not go back to sleep. No. He would probably spend his time anxiously waiting for him to return. He wished there was a way to reassure him that he wouldn’t just disappear, that he would be coming back. But he knew nothing he said would be enough.

Though the boy didn’t know it Drogan had already made arrangements if he didn’t return to the ship. In three days if he did ot return the ship was programmed to send out a pre-recorded message to his sister back home. There would also be a message for Haati, letting him know that he had a home waiting for him for the time being. Until the boy decided what he wanted to do with his life. If he wanted to find his own family or not. It was a grim thought, but Mando’ad were always prepared for death.

“Walk me out?” The boy hopped off the chair as Drogan stood and slipped his rifle onto his back. They walked together in silence, Haati’s lips quirked down slightly and eyebrows knit in worry. Stopping by the hatch he knelt and put his hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, Haat’ika.” The new term of address seemed to snap the boy out of whatever poor thoughts he was currently having as he looked up, curious. “I can’t promise you that I won’t get hurt because I know I can’t keep it. But… I will return to you. So long as I am able I will return to you. Do you understand?” Haati’s eyes searched his own, as if trying to read his mind, or perhaps the depth of his sincerity. Eventually he gave a stern nod in response, eyes alight with hope and understanding. “Good lad.”

Standing he slipped on his helmet and hit the door release. Once he was outside he waved at Haati and motioned for the boy to close the hatch before he turned and started the long walk to his target.

* * *

The streets of the town were full to bursting. If anyone was looking for a spectacle held by the leaders of the rebel faction in this civil war- they need look no further. Different species of all types and people of all walks of life mingled together, excitedly talking about the speech about to be given. Drogan didn’t care. His only thoughts were on completing the job and going home to his… guest.

He wondered if he’d find the boy on the command deck in his room, sitting there with his action figures. Back when he was a child Drogan would do the same thing when he thought his father would be returning soon. He would sit on his parent’s bed with his toys and play until his mother needed him for something or his sister pulled him away. That lasted until he was old enough to start going on jobs with his old man.

Finding a tall building at the edge of town that was easy to access, if one had the means, he waited until there was a suitable distraction and slipped inside. The town was small and seemed to be the kind of community that trusted each other. He didn’t find it difficult at all to get to the top floor and out onto the roof. Although he’d had to go through a window and climb the rest of the way up. Settling down on his stomach he found a comfortable position and pressed the gun into his shoulder gently.

It was maybe a standard hour later that the male he had been looking for finally came out onto the wide stage, waving to his audience like some sort of celebrity. Looking through his scope he followed the man carefully, waiting for the perfect shot. From the probe droid he’d left near the stage earlier he could hear the Twi’lek’s speech. Drogan didn’t care about the political landscape of this backwater planet. At one point he almost rolled his eyes but strict training helped him resist the urge.

About a third way into his speech the guards, who were probably getting bored, finally began to relax. It was the perfect time to focus and finish the job. Reaching for the trigger he took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. Falling into that calm place that gave him the most clarity he felt his heartbeat slow and time seemed to stand still. Until the Twi’lek pulled something out of his shirt and raised it above his head. “…even a Jedi could not stop us!” Drogan pulled his finger away from the trigger as he jerked in surprise.

“Tal bal range!” It was a common curse in his family, and used only in the most shocking of circumstances. His mouth went dry and he had to forcibly calm himself. The Jedi might have been at odds with the Mado’ade but he had no desire to be on the planet when they inevitably appeared. It was a warning his father had given him a long time ago, and it had always stuck with him.

 _"Never take a contract for a Jedi. They like to pretend they don't want revenge, but then they send out a squad to hunt you down. If a jedi attacks you first, that's self defense. But never, never, hunt them first."_ Killing a jedi, while considered a feat to be proud of, still carried a lot of risk behind it. He had a kid to look after and if the Jedi spotted him they sure as shit would assume he had something to do with the death of their cohort.

Focusing back on the brainless idiot who had brought all this trouble down on his own head, Drogan fell back into his almost meditative focus. Finally, with no other distractions, he finally pulled the trigger. The man fell to the sound of panicked screaming. The probe droid hastily took the picture as he recalled it.

It was time to leave.

* * *

Drogan wasn’t even sure how he’d returned to the ship. Only that he had fled the town as if a haran’ad was on his heels.

The moment he was inside the ship he locked the hatch and ripped his helmet off. Clipping it to his belt he hurried to the command deck and strode purposefully into the cockpit. On the way he passed Haati, who was where he had guessed the lad would be. Sitting cross legged on Drogan’s bed with a holobook and one of the action figures.

The boy had obviously noticed his return and scrambled to follow him into the cockpit, looking worried.

“Sit down and buckle up, ad’ika.” He motioned to the co-pilot seat as he spoke, fingers dancing across the controls as he made the proper pre-flight checks. Without a word Haati did as he was told, looking anxious and confused.

“Wh-what happened?” Drogan’s face pinched and his hands paused. He turned to look at the boy and let out a sigh.

“I finished my job but we’re in danger here.” He shook his head and his hands started to move again. “So we can’t stay on this planet anymore…” A lump in his throat made him pause. _‘We? What am I saying?’_

“What danger?” He thought he heard something rattling and glanced behind him toward the ladder, wary of anything abnormal.

There was only one word to describe the kind of danger they were in. “Jedi.” The boy looked puzzled. Of course he wouldn’t know what Jedi were. Even if he’d heard of them before his memories were gone. “They don’t like Mando’ad like me. But…” He felt a heavy weight in his chest. The boy was so earnest, he didn’t want to lie.

“But they’d be able to find your family much easier than I can. If anyone could do it, the Jedi from Coruscant could.” Hazel eyes met and held two differently colored ones. If the boy wanted, Drogan would leave him there to seek help from the Jedi. People who may be able to do far more good for him. The moment seemed to drag onward in silence.

Leaning over Haati reached out hesitantly before grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt, shaking his head. “I want to stay with you. Please.” It was a half whispered plea and it tore at his heart. The boy looked scared, as if Drogan would try to get rid of him somehow. As if he would be abandoned.

“Then you stay, ad’ika. I promise you I will never leave you behind. You have a home here with me. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” His words were spoken with such strength and conviction that for once the boy didn’t need to ask what the words meant. He could feel the weight of them in the air. Letting him go Haati gave him a bright smile and settled into the seat, content.

“Alright.” He said, clearing his throat. “We’re taking off now. Ready for your first trip to the stars?” A roguish grin spread across his face as he looked to the lad. An excited mischievous smile matched his grin for intensity and he chuckled.

Feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long while Drogan took the ship into the air and set off toward home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Jate vaar'tur- Good morning.  
> Ad'ika- Child, boy.  
> Mando'ad- Mandalorian singular.  
> “Tal bal range!”- Blood and ashes! A curse that is specific to Drogan's clan.  
> Mando'ade- Mandalorians plural.  
> Haran'ad- Devil  
> Haat, ijaa, haa’it- Truth, honor, vision. Words used to seal a pact. In this case Drogan is sealing his promise to never abandon Haati.


	5. Chapter 5

Coming out of hyperspace above Rorak 4 he looked down at the planet below with a grimace. He knew that if he wanted his credits he had to report to his employer in person. All part of the contract. But from his experience he didn’t trust a single sentient on the entire planet. Slavers, smugglers, crime lords. If he hadn’t needed the credits he would have bypassed the planet entirely and ignored the contract.

Glancing over at Haati he wasn’t surprised to see the boy’s face light up with awe and delight. Whether the boy had seen a planet from this high up or not was a moot point, because he certainly wouldn’t have remembered it. For a moment Drogan wondered what it would be like to see everything again with fresh eyes like that. Then he thought about the trade off and decided he never wanted to experience amnesia. Forgetting about his family, Mandalore, and the Resol’nare which he had wholeheartedly sworn to? It would be a fate worse than death.

“It’s so beautiful.” He heard the boy whisper and sighed.

“Yeah, from up here.” He grumbled. “Haati…” The slight hesitance in his voice must have tipped the kid off to his mood as the look of delight fled his face instantly. They had spent a lot of time together the past week and a half, and Drogan was beginning to notice some interesting personality traits that were slowly becoming more apparent the more time that passed. Like the boy’s almost solemn calm whenever faced with something challenging.

“I know you have a hard time remembering anything from your past. But this planet isn’t like most other worlds.” The slightly concerned yet curious look aimed his way wasn’t helping his conscience any. “There are a lot of… terrible people down there.” He hated to simplify something like this. He knew Haati was intelligent but he was so… naive and trusting. At least around him. He wasn’t sure how the kid would react to other people honestly. He’d been okay with the female doctor that had checked over his wounds but that was one person in a closed environment with a protective presence nearby. This would be so much worse.

“This isn’t… where you live?” The boy asked, biting his lip and fidgeting in his seat.

“No, this planet is where my current employer lives. I need to stop by and see him before I can get paid for my work. Once that’s done I’ll be taking us straight to Mandalore.”

The boy gave him a small smile, going from concerned to almost shy. “I can’t wait to see Mandalore.” The excitement and nervousness was there and it made Drogan smile. Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s hair, which earned him a small giggle.

“Alright. Back on topic.” He sent a request to the planet for permission to land. “Because I don’t trust anyone on this planet I want you to come with me when I meet my employer.” There was a look of excitement in those two colored eyes and he wanted to groan. “It will be dangerous. Very dangerous.” Turning completely to look down at the boy he put on as stern a face as he could, which would have terrified most sentients. Haati just fell quiet, listening intently. “If I give you an order I expect it to be obeyed. You will stick close to me at all times and not speak to anyone without my say so. Do you understand?” Two different eyes looked down for a moment, as if truly thinking about his words, before they flicked up once again in understanding.

“Yes Drogan. I won’t leave your side, I won’t talk to anyone you don’t say it’s okay to, and I will obey any and all orders.” A proud smile crossed his face unbidden.

“Good lad. Now get ready because we’ll be landing soon.”

* * *

The planet was exactly how he remembered it. Full of the worst kinds of sentients imaginable. All scurrying around pretending to mind their own business while greedily coveting what others had. With his helmet on, fully armored, and weapons on display there weren’t many who openly watched him. One quick glance and the majority of the crowd moved out of his way. Mandalorians had a reputation for a reason. Back on the ship he was a protective and kind guardian, not wanting to scare the boy now in his care. But the moment he stepped foot onto the planet he fell into the role of heartless mercenary as easily as breathing. Just like his father had taught him and his father’s father before him.

Walking just off his left and a little behind, Haati gaped openly at all the tall buildings with their flashing signs and strange architecture. This was one of the most affluent districts on the planet, where the wealthy crime lords came to relax and do business at their leisure. Of course, that didn’t mean it was any more safe than the rest of the festering pit of a planet. To his credit the boy never strayed from his side, sticking as close as he could without tripping up his protector.

Stopping at an intersection to check the information he’d been given, making sure they were going in the right direction, Drogan noticed a couple of thugs nearby staring at him intently. No. Not him… They were staring at Haati. Watching the boy with a look that left Drogan feeling sickened and enraged. Glancing down at the boy he tried to see what it was they were so interested in and cursed when it finally hit him. The boy only had the one outfit, simple backwater merchant’s clothes, since they’d had to leave the planet quickly. Unlike Drogan the boy had no armor to wear and thus nothing to hide his features. A human child with milky skin, hair like fresh fallen snow, and heterochromatic eyes. To a slaver he was a rare and exotic find, a slave that could be sold for an exorbitant amount. Even if he was male Drogan knew there was a market for that sort of thing.

The very thought made a tight knot of his stomach and a burning anger build in his chest. For a moment he had to seriously fight down the urge to kill the thugs for even looking in their direction. It would certainly put everyone on notice that the boy was under his protection and that he was not to be messed with. But when he thought of how it would effect the boy he stayed his hand.

“Haati.” He snapped, making the boy jump slightly and tense at his tone, focus solely on Drogan. “Don’t stray.” He ground out between clenched teeth.

“Yes, Drogan.” He muttered, looking chastised and a little confused. It was obvious the boy hadn’t noticed just how much attention he was attracting. It was the main reason he wished he could have left the boy back at the ship. Haati just didn’t know enough about the galaxy yet to watch out for himself. But if someone found their way onto the ship Drogan wasn’t sure if the kid could handle himself alone. It was a choice between two unpredictable situations, and he’d chosen the one where he could keep an eye on the kid. Just in case.

Shifting subtly he turned his head so his visor was pointed in the direction of the thugs and placed a hand on his blaster. It was the only warning they would get. If they tried anything their lives would be forfeit. He had no mercy to spare for utreekov’la aruetii.

Turning down the right street he kept his eyes peeled for any followers. You could never be too careful. Paranoia had saved his shebs more times than he could count. Beside him Haati kept pace, even as he looked around in naive awe. He would have worried about the boy keeping up if he hadn't been sparring with him the past week. The kid had excellent stamina and endurance for his age. Now all he needed was to get him some proper armor and- he sighed to himself, putting an end to that line of thought.

Thoughts like those had been coming more frequently the longer the boy stayed with him. If he kept thinking of the child as his own then he would never be able to give him back to his real family. Some part of him wondered, would that be so bad? If he took he boy in and raised him from this point onward. He could just claim him right now and it would be a done deal. Adoption was a simple ritual in his culture, though the responsibility he would be taking on would be immense. _‘But it wouldn’t be fair to the kid.’_ He concluded.

Bringing all of his focus back to the task at hand he stopped in front of the high class nightclub and checked his information one final time. “This is the place. Stick close, speak to no one unless I say you can, and if anything happens don’t hesitate to blast your way out.” Haati shuffled, hand touching the handle of the blaster at his hip as he grimaced. Honestly Drogan still had no idea why the boy had such an aversion to blasters. Then again, he had mentioned flashes of light and someone dying as his earliest memory, hadn’t he?

“Let’s go.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out again he stepped up to the doors and shoved them forcefully open. A bit dramatic, but he had an image to project.

Striding inside with purpose he immediately realized he should have kept Haati back on the Chaab’kalar. Everywhere he looked there was some depraved activity or another going on. The air was thick with the scent of acrid smoke and sickly sweet alcohol. Females of different species danced sensually on stages to hypnotic music, wearing nearly nothing at all. Nearby patrons of all kinds lost themselves to the oblivion of expensive designer drugs, calling out raunchy suggestions to the dancers.

To his credit the boy barely glanced around, splitting his attention between the floor in front of him and Drogan beside him. He wondered if the kid had really good situational awareness or if he’d have to teach him how to ignore anything that wasn’t an immediate threat so he could look around without being distracted.

Without faltering he walked past the host like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, head high and shoulders back. He only stopped when the man called for security, after Drogan ignored his initial attempts to stop them. Turning he spoke to the man in an even voice, purposefully letting a little annoyance color his words. “I’m here on business. Tell Lurdoon that the Mandalorian he hired is here to see him.” The host stuttered and eyed him warily, looking up at his expressionless helmet. Visibly swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say the man seemed to rethink calling security on him, probably worried about losing them. Finally he waved over a female Twi’lek.

“I’ll have someone alert Mr. Lurdoon of your arrival. Sitara will show you the way to the vip lounge.” Without another word he turned to the Twi’lek, who was doing a good job of not looking intimidated by his presence. The fake smile on her face was the only indication of her discomfort as she politely invited them to follow her to the back of the club.

Haati stuck even closer to his side and for that he was grateful. Out in the street he had a far better chance of protecting the boy than he did in a scummy nightclub owned by a Hutt crime lord.

Entering the back room he had to push aside his disgust at the sight of his employer. Lurdoon wasn’t much different from any other Hutt he’d seen before. Revolting, greedy, depraved, with no morals or honor. The giant slug lay across a dais covered in luxurious pillows, surrounded by female slaves that fed him and spritzed his body with something Drogan didn’t care to know about. Fortunately there weren’t any dancing girls in this room, although he was certain that the fat creature enjoyed that sort of thing.

The Twi’lek that led them into the room sashayed forward and delicately prostrated herself before the Hutt, waiting until she was called on to speak. Standing she motioned toward the two of them, but only introduced Drogan as a visitor. She didn’t spare Haati even a glance and after a second or two of agitation he realized that everyone assumed the boy was his slave. For a moment his mouth went dry and he felt almost dizzy with disgust. His right hand clenched, glove creaking from the strain, and he felt the urge to hit something. If they thought he was the same kind of scum as Lurdoon they had another thing coming!

A small hand sliding into his own and gently squeezing it stilled him immediately. Glancing down at Haati he could tell the child was frightened. Of course he was. Even if he’d ever been in a place like this, which Drogan doubted, this experience would be new to him without his memories. Thinking back to the first time he’d seen a Hutt in person Drogan could understand how intimidating they could be. Letting the tension leave him he took a few breaths and let them out as calmly as he could. He needed to keep his temper in check, if only for the boy. Giving Haati’s hand a reassuring squeeze he released it. He would need both free if he had to draw weapons.

 _“Ah, Mandalorian! You return. With good news, I presume?”_ Stepping forward he gave the Hutt a curt nod, a basic courtesy. Unlike his slaves Drogan would not bow in deference to the fat slug. This sentient might be his current employer but he was owed nothing, especially respect. Only his professionalism and his concern for the boy behind him kept him level headed.

“I have the proof you wanted.” Handing the datapad over to one of the Twi’lek slaves he stood back and waited as Lurdoon was shown the pictures of the now deceased targets. It didn’t take long for him to be handed back the datapad, the Hutt finding the proof sufficient enough.

 _“The credits are being sent to your account now. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mandalorian. I know who to call the next time I need a reliable… employee.”_ The Hutt let out a rumbling chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The very thought of working for the crime lord again made his skin crawl. But he had an image to keep.

“If you have another job for me in the future, you know how to contact me.” Turning on his heel he started back towards the door, glad this was almost over and that they would be off the planet in a matter of hours. He was almost out the door when the Hutt called out to him, making him freeze in his tracks.

_“Mandalorian. I see you have a guest with you who was not present the last time.”_

Grinding his teeth he turned back toward the slimy crime lord. “What of it?” He asked tersely.

 _“Only an observation. I have never seen such a unique human before.”_ Biting the inside of his cheek for a moment he counted to five to keep himself calm.

Switching to Huttese, he didn’t want Haati figuring out what they were talking about after all, he let some of his anger fill his words. _“He is not for sale! He’s- he’s my son.”_ He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself. When he opened his eyes again he could see the surprise on the Hutt’s face, his pupils blown wide. For a moment Drogan wondered if he’d only increased the creature’s interest in the boy. But after a moment of silence the Hutt waved him off.

 _“I see. That is… unfortunate. I hope I have not offended.”_ Drogan’s eyes narrowed at the blatant disrespect but he refused to speak to the Hutt again.

“Ad’ika, shekemir’ni!” He winced inwardly when Haati stiffened and looked up at him in surprise. Honestly he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, or fall back into Mando’a. He only hoped the boy would follow his lead. If he tried to take back the words in front of the Hutt it could ruin the credibility of his previous statement.

“Elek, buir.” Haati replied. The words that came out of the boy’s mouth almost made him falter as he stalked out into the main hall. While he had taught the boy the words for yes and no in Mando’a he had never mentioned the word buir, not wanting to color the way the boy perceived him.

 _‘Where did he learn the word for father?’_ He was absolutely certain he’d never mentioned that word even once. Going over every interaction he’d had with the boy as they left the nightclub he wondered if the holobooks he’d given him had anything on them that might explain it. He’d have to check when they returned to the ship.

Back out onto the street he tried to let himself relax but couldn’t help he feeling that they were being watched. If it was one of Lurdoon’s goons he was going to send them back to the slimy aruetii in pieces. Mandalorians were well known for many reasons, chief among them being their legendary tempers.

“Is… is everything okay?” Letting those thoughts sit in the back of his mind he looked down at the platinum blonde beside him and smiled. The boy’s concerned look deepened and Drogan remembered that he was wearing his buy’ce. Haati couldn’t see his expression.

“Everything’s fine, Haat’ika. We’re done here. Once we get back to the ship we can get off this planet and head home.” Relieved the boy smiled brightly at him with excitement. Drogan chuckled. The kid was certainly eager to see his home planet and meet his family… osik. What was he going to tell his family?

Leading the way back to the ship he checked his accounts and was relieved to see the credits had already gone through. The amount was nothing to sneeze at and would keep them going for quite a while. If he budgeted it correctly he could buy Haati some new clothes. Maybe even a blaster of his choice. Though that could probably wait. Neither of them could figure out why nothing felt properly weighted to him. It was like he was used to a weapon that weighed practically nothing at all. He’d think the kid wasn’t used to any weapon whatsoever but it was clear he knew how to handle them and how to shoot straight.

Coming into a busy intersection they were nearly swarmed by the crowd before everyone seemed to recognize the armor he was wearing and got the hell out of his way. Turning to Haati he was about to offer his hand to the boy so he wouldn’t get lost when something slammed into him; hard. It was only his years of training and experience that saved him from landing on his face as he tucked and rolled with the force of the blow. Crouched he glared up at the male Rodian as he reached for his blaster.

“Drogan!” Head snapping to the side he saw a brawny human male haul Haati over his shoulder and start running. Snarling he jumped to his feet to give chase but the Rodian started shooting at him. Dodging to the right he closed the distance between him and the shab’la aruetii. Using his blaster in this crowd would do him no favors. Instead he pulled the knife from his belt and slammed it into the Rodian’s neck before twisting it viciously. Ignoring the body he sheathed the knife and ran in the direction he’d seen the kidnapper go.

With Haati struggling and making a racket the crowd that had been between him and his boy scattered. Running full tilt he raised his left arm, planted his feet, and launched the whipcord from his vambrace the moment he was in range. The fibercord whip wrapped around the man’s neck and Drogan took vicious pleasure in hauling back as hard as he could. The man’s feet went out from under him and he made an aborted choking sound as he dropped Haati, desperately trying to untangle the cord around his neck.

Now that Haati was relatively safe Drogan stalked forward, like an enraged predator. Pulling out his blaster he shot the man twice in the chest before he untangled the cord and hit the retract button on his vambrace. Turning to Haati he crouched and reached out to examine him. “You okay?” There must have been something about his voice that pulled the kid out of his shock. His shoulders relaxed and he winced as he got up. Drogan would have stood as well but Haati threw himself against his chest, wrapping his arms around his neck with a frightened sob.

“Shh, ad’ika. Udesii. You’re okay now.” Rather than let him go and force him to walk back to the ship while he was openly crying, Drogan picked the boy up and held him. No one said anything to him as he left the bodies of the kidnappers cooling in the middle of the street.

He was on high alert the entire walk back to the ship but nothing came of it. The moment they were inside he locked the door and went straight to Haati’s room. He set the boy down on his bed and took off his helmet. “Hey, Haat’ika. You stay here for now. I’m going to get the ship moving.” Reaching out with his hand he finally noticed the Rodian’s blood on his gauntlet. With a grimace he pulled his hand away, much to the boy’s confusion.

“When I get back I’ll make you something hot to drink and we’ll just relax for a bit. Alright?” The boy stared at him for a moment then nodded obediently. “Okay… okay. If you want to take a nap it’s fine I’ll wake you up in a bit.” It was harder than it should have been to leave the boy there in his room, face still splotchy from crying. But Drogan wanted them far away from this place as soon as physically possible.

* * *

Once they were back in hyperspace Drogan finally let himself relax and took off most of his armor. It needed to be cleaned anyway. Heading downstairs he went into the galley and made the boy a spiced tea that he always kept a stock of. It was nice after being out in the rain, snow, or if he just wanted to relax. He was fairly certain there were some medicinal herbs in it but he’d never thought to ask before.

Going into Haati’s room he knocked lightly on the wall, since the boy had never closed the door. The overhead light was off but the small light built into the bed was on. He found the kid curled up, eyes closed. “Haat’ika, I have your tea.” He set it down on the side table as the boy slowly sat up. There was a searching look in his eyes that made Drogan wince. He was only thankful it was currently curious and not accusatory.

“I think… we need to talk.” Sitting on the edge of the bed he waited for Haati to grab his drink and get comfortable before he started speaking. “I told you that it was my job to find people who don’t want to be found. That I was a bounty hunter.” The boy nodded. “While I didn’t lie, I wasn’t telling the whole truth either. I also do work as a mercenary.” Haati gave him a slightly unamused look and he snorted, smiling before his expression dimmed. “A mercenary will do anything for money, or almost anything. I have my own set of rules I follow when it comes to taking a job.” No kidnapping or killing kids was high on that list. Along with helping slavers hunt down more innocent people to exploit.

“On the planet where I found you it was my job to kill some of the leaders on either side of the civil war.” He looked down at his calloused hands. “You don’t get to be as skilled as I am by training on your own. It takes real world experience. Mandalorians are a culture of warriors. We’re well known throughout the galaxy as being cold-blooded murderers.” It was why so many people feared him the moment they saw him.

A small hand reached out and grabbed his hand. Looking over at Haati he could see the boy’s eyes, bright even in the dim light. “I think I… already knew that…” He frowned. “I remembered a couple days ago what happened before I fainted. How you saved me by killing the people trying to hurt me.” Drogan sucked in a breath, not daring to speak or even breathe. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. You wouldn’t have saved me if you were bad. You wouldn’t give me toys and books and teach me to defend myself.” Haati gave him a bright smile. “I have amnesia, I’m not stupid.” That unexpected comment pulled a laugh from him.

“I see your point, ad’ika.” He continued to chuckle.

“Besides, why would I be scared of you?” Maybe he should give the boy some more credit, he was smarter than he thought. “You said I was your son. I really don’t think you’d hurt your own son.” All the air left his lungs and he openly gaped at the boy.

“I… what?!” Haati blinked at him then frowned.

“When you were talking to the big… sentient… thing. You told it I wasn’t for sale and that I was your son. Didn’t you?” Drogan wanted to curse.

“You know Huttese?” His brows came together in a frown. There were so many implications to Haati knowing Huttese, including the fact that he may have possibly been a slave.

“Is that what it’s called? I don’t know… I just… It all made sense to me.” Moving away he pulled his legs closer to his body, looking lost. Drogan wasn’t sure what to tell him. How many things were locked up in that uncooperative brain of his?

“But you said I was your son.” The smile he received lit up the boy’s face. “Um… unless you were just saying that.” He felt his stomach twist at the dejected look on the boy’s face.

“You can be.” He blurted. “If- if you want to be.”

“Yes!” The fierce way Haati spoke, and the determined look on his face, was all he needed.

Reaching out he pulled the boy to him. “Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Haati Kurshi’cin be te Cin’ciri. I know your name as my child. You are now Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri.” And it was done. The boy snuggling into his side was no longer a waif he’d rescued on some backwater planet. He was Drogan’s son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Utreekov’la aruetii- In this instance it means Foolish outsiders.  
> Utreekov- Fool or idiot. Literally translated as ‘empty head.’  
> Aruetii- Foreigners, outsiders, and traitors. Anyone who is not Mandalorian is considered Aruetii.  
> Shebs- Behind, used colloquially for ass.  
> Chaab’kalar- From the words Chaab, fear, and Shukalar, to conquer. It is the name of Drogan’s ship.  
> Ad’ika, shekemir’ni!- Boy, follow me!  
> Elek- Yes  
> Buir- Parent, in this case father.  
> Buy’ce- Helmet  
> Udesii- Calm down or take it easy.


	6. Welcome Home

A knock at the door in the late afternoon and the call of her eldest child had her smiling to herself as she wiped her hands on the hanging towel in the kitchen. She shushed her eldest boy and went to open the door, hand on her blaster just in case. A little while ago, no more than twenty minutes, she’d heard a ship fly overhead. Since her husband was a ship mechanic it wasn’t too unusual. But a knock at the door was.

Opening the door she was met with a familiar sight. Primarily dark green beskar’gam with a line of white stylized triangles in the center of the helmet, in what could roughly be called a tree shape, stood staring down at her silently. A bright smile crossed her face as she threw herself at the man returned home.

 _“Ori-vod!”_ With a chuckle her elder brother caught her up in a hug. When she finally let go she swatted his arm with a scowl.

 _“You were supposed to be home a week ago! You didn’t tell me you were coming or even if you were safe, you big idiot!”_ He gave her an exaggerated shrug that he must knew annoyed her.

 _“Just get in here and park your behind.”_ She turned to let him inside. _“And take off your helmet! You know the house rules.”_ When he didn’t move she gave him an annoyed look. He took a breath to say something but she cut him off. _“Oh, and apologize to the kids. You promised them you’d tell them some stories last time and you didn’t.”_

“Stars, Jetta! Can I get a word in here?” He groused as he yanked off his bucket, giving her a disgruntled look. The switch from Mando’a to Basic had her placing her hands on her hips and glowering at him.

“Well? You’ve done something, or you wouldn’t be standing out here giving me that look.” Shuffling nervously on his feet for a moment the man took a step aside. Without the large form of her brother in the way she was finally able to see the boy standing behind him, looking wide eyed and nervous. He was about twelve years old with white hair and strange eyes. Once she’d finished looking him over she looked to her brother for an explanation.

“Who is this?” She tried to keep her voice even, the poor thing looked scared. Clipping his helmet to his belt Drogan stepped back and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Jetta, this is Haati.” Clearing his throat he gently urged the boy forward. “My son.”

For the second time in her entire life she was absolutely speechless. Her brother, the man who was far too awkward to even realize when a woman was hitting on him, had come home with a child in tow.

“Son?” She asked for clarification when her voice finally returned. He nodded.

“I adopted him. He is now Haati Kurshi’cin.” After the moment of shock was finally over her entire face lit with happiness.

“Well, come in.” The boy looked up at Drogan and received an encouraging smile. It eased something in the boy and he seemed to relax finally.

“I have to call our _buire_ and let them know. Since I assume you didn’t.” Drogan winced and shook his head, earning him an admonishing look.

“Do you really want to deny our _buire_ the knowledge that you have finally given them a _bu’ad_?” It didn’t take long for her brother to crack under her glare. No one in their right mind got in the way of Dral’cabur and his grandchildren. The man was a mountain. “That’s what I thought. Now come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat. You can introduce Haati to his cousins.”

They came inside to sit down and the kids practically exploded with excitement. They all adored their uncle and were glad to see he was home. Jetta laughed to herself as he tried to keep the kids at bay while they asked a million and two questions. Her only concern was that they were going to overrun her new nephew. But seeing the small smile on his face she figured everything would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> Ori'vod- Elder sibling or a close friend.  
> Buir- Parents  
> Bu'ad- Grandchild/children


	7. Chapter 7

It was a little strange. Normally sitting in his sister’s home surrounded by the kids was the only time he felt he could relax outside of hyperspace. But the last couple weeks with Haati had given him the same feeling of being home. Whenever his boy was around he didn’t feel the need to be so guarded, to act like a ruthless killer constantly. And wasn’t that a wonderful thought? His boy. For the longest time he’d thought about getting married and having children but there had never been anyone he really thought he’d like to spend the rest of his life with. Start a family with. Now here he was, almost thirty, and although he wasn’t married he now had the son he’d always wanted.

“Cuyir gar ner ba’vod’ika?” Aran, his sister’s eldest boy at seven years, was practically bouncing in place as he asked question after question in rapid fire Mando’a. Haati looked at the younger boy, his brows drawn together in a concerned frown. He knew the boy would have answered the questions if he could but he just didn’t know enough of the language yet.

“Aran’ika, Haati only speaks Basic. He still has to learn Mando’a.” The boy stopped bouncing and looked up at him with wide eyes. Drogan huffed in good natured exasperation. “Like ba’buir Tianna had to.” Understanding crossed the child’s face as he finally caught on. Haati, on the other hand, looked even more confused.

“Your grandmother, Tianna, married into the Kurshi’cin clan. Before that she was aruetii. Your grandparents, the word is ba’buir, don’t talk about it much for some reason.” He suspected that they’d met during one of his father’s jobs and their introduction to each other hadn’t been the best. Yet somehow they’d ended up together anyway. He and Jetta had only brought it up once or twice but their parents reactions made it clear that it was something personal, something they were not meant to know. So they dropped it. It didn’t matter what his mother had been before becoming Mando’ad.

“Cin vhetin is an important concept in our culture. It means white field, or virgin snow. A blank slate to start your life as one of the Mando’ad. Your past is erased, forgotten, and only what you do after becoming Mando’ad matters.” He didn’t really think Haati needed it, to be honest. What with the boy not even remembering who he had been before waking up on Drogan’s ship. But it was something he had to learn anyway.

“As for you, Aran’ika. I adopted him, so yes, he is your cousin.” The little boy’s smile grew wide and his excitement returned.

“Why is one of your eyes funny colored?” Drogan couldn’t help the snort of amusement as Haati tried, and failed, to not look offended. His face scrunched up before his expression smoothed out again and he became thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I was born like this, I guess.” Seeing as he had his cousin well in hand, now that they were both speaking Basic, Drogan turned back to his niece and twin nephews.

“Hello Ruusan, did you miss me?” The five year old girl gave him a bright smile while the two year old twins crawled into his lap and started tugging at his armor, curious as always. Kebiin and Vorpan were like miniatures of their father, Taylin. The man was very quiet, intelligent, and observant. There were very few times Drogan had heard the man raise his voice and it had only ever been in warning. Anyone who thought Taylin was less of a Mando because he was a mechanic, and tried to take advantage, quickly found out it was the quiet ones you should fear most.

Glancing over to his sister he set the twins down on the carpet with Ruusan to play and joined Jetta in the kitchen. She’d already commed their parents and was in the middle of making a much larger meal than she had been intending to earlier. Taking off his gauntlets he motioned to the cutting board and she waved him toward it dismissively, accepting his help without fuss.

“He’s a quiet boy, good with the children.” There were questions in her tone of voice, ones that demanded an answer. She could tell that there was something off about Haati already. Raising four children probably gave her some sort of sixth sense. Drogan sighed.

“Echoy'la tome'tayle, he has Amnesia.” Her hands stopped moving and she turned to him, brows nearly in her hairline.

“You want me to believe that he has no recollection of anything at all?” He shook his head.

“He has muscle memory and can recognize languages he’s learned but doesn’t remember speaking. He already knows how to fight and shoot, decently too. Whoever he was before he was well trained.” Reaching over she put her hand on his arm, looking concerned.

“Are you sure he has no family?” Hanging his head slightly he wondered how to explain the connection he had with the boy, and his decision to take him in. As a mother she probably sympathized with the idea of having a child taken away.

He quickly switched to Mando'a so they could speak privately. _“I rescued him from a group of militia on the planet from my last job. He’d already lost his memories when I found him. I thought I could help him find his family, give him back. But…”_ He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to be embarrassed or feel guilty.

 _“From what he vaguely remembers, he had some nightmares that are very telling, the only family member he had was killed. Probably by the same people chasing him down.”_ His sister stirred the pot on the stove, one eye on the children and one eye on the food. But he had no doubt that she was listening to him intently.

 _“On my last job one of the targets had a stolen lightsaber. He claimed he’d killed a jetti and stolen it.”_ There was tension in her frame now, her mouth a grim line.

 _“I wasn’t going to stick around to find out if I’d be blamed or not. I gave him a choice. Stay there and wait to ask the jetii for assistance or come with me. He chose me.”_ There was emotion in his voice. It was the first moment where he’d really felt like he might want to keep the boy.

 _“I went back to my employer, on Rorak-4. I couldn’t leave him in the ship, just in case, so I took him with me.”_ Now she was glaring at him and he may or may not have deserved it. _“He’s twelve, Jetta. Or near enough.”_ That didn’t make her feel any better and he knew it.

 _“My employer thought Haati was a slave.”_ The rage on her face pretty much matched his feelings at the time. _“I know.”_ He said quietly.

 _“The fat bastard hinted that he was interesting in buying the boy and I just… I told him he was my son to get him to back off.”_ His cheeks flooded with warmth and his sister gave him a small smile and shake of her head. _“I didn’t realize Haati spoke Huttese until later, when he asked me if I meant it when I called him my son.”_ She looked just as surprised as he’d been when he found out.

 _“Do you think he was a slave?”_ He shook his head. It just didn’t fit.

 _“He was too well taken care of and knew too much about how to defend himself. If he was a slave he would have been sold somewhere that would capitalize on his,”_ he scowled at having to think like a slaver, _“exotic appearance.”_ The fiercely protective look in his eyes was met with an approving nod.

 _“When he asked if I’d just said it to make the slimy Hutt back off there was this look on his face. Like… like he thought I was going to reject him, abandon him.”_ Jetta’s expression softened and she smiled.

 _“So you offered, and he accepted.”_ He shrugged in response. She was right after all. Now there was no one who could take Haati away from him. Not without a vicious bloody fight to the death.

When he finished helping his sister in the kitchen he returned to the main living area to find Haati sitting on the floor with the kids, listening to them as they told him stories. With a small smile his son took out the two action figures he’d claimed as his favourites. Aran and Ruusan recognized them and went to grab their own, showing them to Haati excitedly.

“That one is Dral ba’buir, and that one is Drogan ba’vodu, where’s yours?” Aran asked when he recognized the two of them. Haati blinked and looked down at the figures, shrugging.

“I don’t have one.” He said honestly.

“Don’t worry, Haat’ika. You will.” He said with a chuckle. Just then the front door opened. Drogan’s hand went to his blaster for a moment before he recognized the ‘intruder.’

“Ba’buir!” The kids all cheered, jumping up and swarming the man. The giant let out a deep chuckle, picking them up all at once in a hug before setting them down again and usher them away from the door. His wife came in next, smiling in that gentle way she always had.

“Drogan, we’re glad you’re home.” Giving her a hug he leant down so she could kiss his cheek. “I see your sister reminded you about the house rules. Good. I made two beautiful children and I like to see their faces.” Drogan chuckled.

“Drogan, vaii cuyir ner evaar'la bu'ad?” Looking over at Haati he motioned his son over. The boy was quiet as he got up, hugging the action figures to his chest, and quickly came to stand beside him. He looked up at the six foot seven inch tall man with curious awe before looking down at the action figure in his hand.

“Haati, this is Dral’cabur, your grandfather, and Tianna, your grandmother. Dral’buir, Tian’buir, this is my son Haati.” He could tell the boy was a little nervous, the way he kept looking back at him was proof of it. Settling his hands on his son’s shoulders he felt the boy lean back into him, taking comfort from him as he met his new family for the first time.

“Basic?” Dral’buir asked him, his voice even in temper.

“Yes. He has a small issue that we’re trying to deal with. But it will take time.” His father frowned and his mother looked concerned.

“Mir’shupur. Echoy'la tome'tayle.” Brain damage and amnesia, not things to be taken lightly. Haati looked up at him, frowning in concentration. Trying to figure out what he’d said no doubt. Dral’buir was giving him a stern look and Tian’buir looked like she wanted to wrap the boy up in a hug.

“I’ve already discussed things with Jetta, she can tell you more. I’m not changing my mind.” In his life Drogan had only ever stared his father down once. He had a lot of respect for the man and they had very similar views on the world. But at this moment he was willing to do it again. Regardless of what the man thought Haati was his son and he would fight for his right to be a part of the Kurshi’cin clan.

Dral’cabur returned his stare for a long moment before nodding his head in acceptance. Drogan didn’t realize how tense he’d been until the man’s blue eyes drifted down to the child and he smiled.

“Haati, then. Did your buir name you?” The boy returned the smile with a bright one of his own.

“Lek, ba’buir.” Dral’buir’s face split into an even wider grin.

“Ori’jate! You’re learning fast.” There was clear approval in his voice and Drogan had to smile.

“Alright everyone, the food’s ready!” Lifting one hand off his son’s shoulder he ruffled the boy’s hair before steering him toward the table.

“Come on Haat’ika, it’s a special occasion. The first meal with your new family.” Haati looked up at him with a warm smile and Drogan knew he’d made the right decision.

[***]

After dinner the kids had decided to play hide and seek tag. At first Haati didn’t really understand the idea of the game but he got it pretty quickly and was soon laughing along with his cousins. Whenever he’d find one of the younger boys he’d pick them up and spin them around or tickle them to get a laugh instead of a pout.

Sitting with his parents he watched the kids play with no small amount of relief. Sometimes his boy could be so quiet and serious that he wondered if he’d ever actually had a childhood. Even if he didn’t remember his past there should have been the usual acting up for attention and emotional outbursts. But Haati was so obedient, like a little soldier. The thought made something twist painfully in his gut. Mando’ad might train their children from a young age but they didn’t start the harsher training until about twelve to fourteen. To be as good as he already was meant he had to have been trained in discipline since he was a toddler. Drogan didn’t like the implications of that.

 _“He’s a sweet boy.”_ Looking over at his mother he smiled.

 _“He is. A little fragile right now but he’s been well trained. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was one of us already. But he doesn’t understand our language like he does others.”_ No Mando’ad would go without teaching their child the language of their people. It went against the Resol'nare, the very tenets of their culture.

 _“Do you think he will swear to the Six Actions?”_ Looking up at his father when he returned from the kitchen, Drogan shrugged.

 _“I’m not sure. I want him to understand more of our culture before I tell him about the Six Actions. I don’t want him to swear when he doesn’t understand.”_ There was an approving look in his father’s eyes that made him feel a little embarrassed. Like he was a boy again and had given the man the right answer to a difficult question.

 _“I always knew you would be a good father. You just never found the right partner.”_ He groaned and put his face in his hands, ignoring his sister’s laughter and his mother’s playful smile. Every damn time he returned home it was the same thing.

 _“Yeah, yeah.”_ Thankfully he was rescued from having to hear more about his non-existent love life as the front door opened and closed. Standing in front of the door, helmet already clipped to his belt, was Taylin. He stood there looking at them all curiously for a moment before giving a small wave. The kids noticed their father was home and swarmed him, tugging on his arms and encouraging him to meet ‘Ba’vod’ika Haati!’

Taylin’s eyebrows rose as he was dragged over to the newest addition to the family. He looked at the boy for a moment then gave him a kind smile.

“Welcome to the family.” Haati seemed surprised that the man spoke to him in basic, since most of the family defaulted to Mando’a first.

“Vor’e.” Taylin gave him a polite nod before picking up the twins, who had latched onto his legs, and handing them over to his wife.

“I need to get clean, din’ike.” He said when they complained. Drogan couldn’t help but smile. It was a good nickname for the kids collectively.

Now that their father was home the kids could finally be settled down for the night. Drogan’s parents decided to head home before it was too late and wished them a good night, promising to visit again soon to get to know Haati better. Nudging his son’s shoulder he smiled. Haati smiled back at him, all the nervousness from earlier completely gone.

“Time to go, Haat’ika.” His boy looked up at him, tilting his head curiously.

“This is your bavodu’e’s home. Ours is the Chaab’kalar.” Haati smiled very wide and he looked down at the boy with a questioning brow. His face colored slightly.

“I like that… our home.” Drogan chuckled and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a small hug.

“Alright then, let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Cuyir gar ner ba’vod’ika?- Are you the child of my uncle? Or, Are you my cousin?  
> Echoy'la tome'tayle- Lost Memories, a made up term for Amnesia.  
> Vaii cuyir ner evaar'la bu'ad?- Where is my new grandchild?  
> Mir’shupur- Brain damage.  
> Ori’jate!- Excellent!  
> Din’ike- Little gifts.  
> Bavodu’e- Aunt/Uncle/Sibling of a parent, plural.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a
> 
> Kandosii!- Well done!  
> Vor’e- Thanks  
> Buir- Parent  
> Tug’yc?- Again?  
> Ca’nara at ba’slanar- Time to leave.  
> Kama- Belt-spat. The draping skirt-like piece of thick fabric that falls from the waist and protects the legs.  
> Ba’vodu- Aunt/Uncle  
> Me’vaar ti gar?- What’s new with you? Or, How are you? Can also be used to ask a soldier for a sitrep. If a Mando asks you this, they expect an answer.  
> Aalar’la evaar’la- Feels new.  
> Dinuir bic ca'nara- Give it time.  
> Manda’yaim- The Mandalorian word for their home planet of Mandalore.  
> Bevik gebbar at ni- Stick close to me.  
> Mandokarla!- Having the right stuff. Showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue.  
> Gota’tuur- Birthday.

Laying on the grassy hill silently he watched the target through the sights of his verpine sniper rifle. The wind shifted and he felt anticipation flood his veins as he held his breath. The crack of the rifle echoed through the open field and he grinned as a hole opened up dead center in the head of the target. The sound of movement beside him had Drogan turning his head to see the pleased smile on his son’s face and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Kandosii, Haat’ika!” Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s short hair affectionately. It had taken a while to get over his dislike of firearms but the wait had been worth it. The lad was a naturally good shot. He had a good eye, steady hands, and an almost sixth sense for the right time to pull the trigger.

“Vor’e buir.” Canting his head the boy seemed to almost be listening to something before dismissing it. “Tug’yc?” Drogan looked up at the sky, judging the time the old fashioned way, and shook his head.

“Ca'nara at ba'slanar.” Immediately the boy sat up and began packing. Getting up himself he brushed some grass and dirt off his armor before packing up his own gear. Watching his son he went over the past three months in his mind’s eye.

There had been some rocky patches and a few cultural misunderstandings, which had baffled the boy, but over all Haati was fitting in well with his family. Jetta was thankful for another set of hands to look after the children and the kids themselves adored their new cousin. Dral’buir had threatened to introduce his boy to the glory of explosives while Taylin offered to show him some basic ship repairs. Tian’buir had even made him some new clothes to wear. Drogan had to admit the dark green with white accents looked good on him. The symbol associated with the Kurshi’cin embroidered on his chest was probably his grandmother’s way of claiming him and letting everyone know it. Drogan smiled fondly.

Heading back home they stowed their gear and had a quick meal. After cleaning up he watched Haati head straight for the training room and chuckled. His son looked back at him quizzically with a pout. Drogan smiled in response. It was nice to see him shedding his stiff formal manner and finally start showing more of his personality.

“Not today, Haat’ika. We have some errands to run in town.” The boy stared at him for a moment then shrugged and headed for his room to change clothes.

The walk was long but pleasant. Drogan gave his son more lessons in Mando’a to keep his mind busy but by the time they’d arrived he could tell the boy was getting bored. Walking past their normal stops Haati looked up at him and raised a brow. It was definitely something he copied from his father. Drogan ignored the look and kept his expression passive. He was sure that if he looked over at his son he’d start to smirk and give the surprise away.

Not even stopping he walked to a shop, opened the door, and strode inside. He didn’t want to give Haati a moment to think about it. The boy quickly followed him inside and stopped dead just inside the door, eyes wide. The sounds of metalworking rang into the front of the shop. Drogan couldn’t help the giant grin on his face as his son realized where they were.

“Surprised, Haat’ika?” Two brightly colored eyes turned to him, wide with awe. An older man stepped out of the back and looked between him and Haati. He snorted, amused, before he came further into the shop.

 _“You didn’t tell him you were coming today.”_ Drogan chuckled.

 _“I didn’t tell him anything at all.”_ The man gave him a matching grin.

 _“Come here, child.”_ Haati looked up at him and he nodded, motioning his son to his side.

 _“You’re going to have to change.”_ Haati looked up at him for confirmation, brows furrowed, and he sighed.

“Basic, for now. He’s still learning.” The man blinked, shrugged, and switched gears.

“You need to change out of that.” He motioned to the boy’s outfit. “So we can fit you with a flightsuit.” There was a changing room off to the side that his son darted into, all too eager to try on the article of clothing that would go beneath his armor. Drogan couldn’t help but feel happy for his son for how much he’d grown these past few months.

The shopkeep, Motik, grabbed a few flightsuits from the shelf and handed them off to the kid. They waited quietly for him to try them on and eventually he emerged in a navy blue flightsuit. Drogan nodded. “Looks good.”

Motik pulled out the armor pieces that had already been made for the boy and motioned him over so he could attach them. They would probably need a little adjusting but Tianna used to be a seamtress. Her measurements were always accurate.

Staring at himself in the large mirror Haati beamed. The armor was a simplified version of his father’s and he couldn’t be happier. It was currently unpainted but that could easily be fixed later, when the boy finally decided what he wanted to present to the world. When Motik was done he stepped back to admire his work.

“Looks good, Haat’ika. Now you’re ready for anything.” Those two colored eyes looked at him from the mirror and he could see the pleased blush on his face. He was still so shy when it came to compliments.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Walking over to the counter he grinned as Motik reached down and pulled out the last piece. Haati turned to look at him, curious. When he saw the armor piece in Drogan’s hands he practically started to bounce on the spot. Going over to his son he unfolded the kama and clipped it to his son’s waist. It was a little long on him but he would grow into it eventually.

Motik tossed him the helmet and he handed it over. Haati slipped it on and squared his shoulders before looking in the mirror again. Staring back at him was the picture of a proper Mando’ad. Reaching over Drogan held out his forearm, tilted slightly. Haati reached out and clasped his forearm in the proper Mando way and Drogan couldn’t be more proud.

 _“Thanks for the rush order.”_ He said to the shop keeper as Haati pulled off the helmet and clipped it to his belt, still beaming. The man waved away his thanks.

 _“Your money’s always good here. The Kurshi’cin has been coming to us for their armor for generations. You just make sure that boy takes care of it. And if you ever need repairs you know where to find us.”_ He gave the man a respectful nod.

“Come on, Haat’ika. We still need to grab some things for your ba’vodu.” On his way to his father’s side he stopped, turned to the shop keeper, and bowed politely. It was the one habit they had yet to break him of and it still baffled everyone around him. Taylin seemed to understand it, somehow, and said that it would take years to break him of the habit. Drogan wondered what his brother knew that he did not. After all he was the one that very pointedly suggested they get Haati’s hair cut.

Stopping by the usual shops Drogan had to hold back his laughter every time someone complimented his boy on his armor. Haati would get so flustered and thank them quietly before practically hiding behind him to avoid more attention. Drogan shook his head. It was only a matter of time before his confidence grew and the armor became like a second skin to him. He’d have to get used to people noticing him. Mando’ade were well known throughout the galaxy.

“Me’vaar ti gar?” He asked when they were on their way home through the streets of the small town. Haati looked at the ground for a moment, quietly contemplating his answer.

“Aalar’la evaar’la.” He shrugged his shoulders. Drogan could understand that. The armor would be heavier than what he was used to wearing and the kama in particular affected the way one walked. The feeling would be strange until he got used to it.

“Dinuir bic ca'nara.” He said comfortingly. His son shrugged again, shifting the bag of supplies in his arms. Suddenly his head snapped off to the left then quickly turned right. He looked confused. Out of habit Drogan’s hand went to his blaster and his eyes started scanning the crowd around them. He’d learned that his boy had a sort of uncanny sixth sense when it came to danger. He’d saved Aran from falling off the roof and Taylin from electrocuting himself when one of the generators malfunctioned.

Three figures surrounded them, all humans. Their hands were under their cloaks and Drogan knew they were palming weapons.

 _“Can I help you?”_ He growled out in Mando’a, cursing himself internally for not putting his helmet back on. Even Manda’yaim wasn’t always safe.

“Step away from the boy!” The woman on the left demanded in Basic. Drogan scowled. What did these people want with his son?

“The fuck I am! Haati, bevik gebbar at ni.” The boy took a step closer to him, turning slightly so his back was being guarded by his father and he could see two of the attackers. Smart boy.

“Justus, it’s alright. We’re here to bring you home.” Drogan’s brows rose as they pulled out their weapons. Jetii. The three of them were all shabla Jetiise! He looked down at Haati and could see a look of recognition on his face. Something inside his chest tightened.

“Buir, I think I used to have one of those.” He said, awe and confusion warring in his voice as he tried hard to remember. Drogan’s blood ran cold. Thinking back to every interaction he’d had with the boy everything started to make sense. The long strands of hair just behind his ear, the way he’d been so subdued and almost emotionless, the formality and polite bowing. The ingrained physical training, the fact that he found no conventional weapon comfortable to wield, and the sixth sense for danger. All of it had been right there in front of him… and Taylin had fucking known.

For the first time in his life Drogan was hit with something so far outside his realm of expertise that he froze. Haati was a jetii. Jetiise and Mando’ade had been enemies for a long time. His throat felt tight and he wondered at the odd feeling that filled him.

Betrayal. What he was feeling was betrayal.

Haati turned and their eyes locked. In that moment the tightness in his chest disappeared. Cin vhetin. Whatever his son had been before was gone, now he was Mando’ad. Tearing his gaze away he glared at the jetii.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, jetii, but you are not taking my son from me!” The man behind him shifted, taking a step toward them. Drogan pulled his blaster and aimed it at him, trusting Haati to watch the other two and warn him if they moved.

Murmurs erupted around them and Drogan felt a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Behind the jetii the people of Mandalore had drawn weapons and were preparing to attack. No one came to their home and threatened one of their own without a fight. The jetii were woefully outnumbered, and they knew it.

Slowly they turned off their sabers and returned them to their belts, looking as if they’d eaten something sour. Drogan didn’t put his blaster away but he did lower it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” The third jetii, the other male, finally spoke. He looked between Haati and Drogan, frowning. It was obvious to all and sundry that Haati and he weren’t related by blood. Not that it meant much to Mando’ade. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. Drogan had formally adopted Haati and that was it. The Kurshi’cin would fight anyone who tried to take their newest member away from his father.

“We’re looking for a lost padawan, Justus Armaan. White hair, fair skin, right eye green, left eye blue. He was last seen on Skiidush by a female doctor. She described a fairly large ship of a specific make and a Mandalorian in dark green armor with three white triangles in the center of the helmet.” The man pointedly looked down at the helmet clipped to his belt. “We tracked the rumours to Rorak-4 where a Mandalorian of the same description was seen carrying that same child to his ship after meeting with a Hutt crime lord.” Drogan’s hand tightened on the handle of his blaster and he grit his teeth. His jobs were his business, not theirs. While he knew that no Mando’ad would judge him for the jobs he took to support himself and his family it was a very personal choice.

“Justus, we’re sorry about the death of your master.” Drogan bristled as the man turned to talk to his son. “It must have been very upsetting for you. But we’re here to take you back to the Temple. Where you can talk to a mind healer.” Haati blinked at the man, clearly not understanding. “We even retrieved our lightsaber.” He said as he held out a smaller cylinder, obviously made for smaller hands. If the shabla jetii said anything else to his son Drogan was going to shoot him.

“I… sorry? I don’t…” Haati shifted closer to him, practically glued to his side. He was trembling slightly and Drogan growled. No one scares his kid and gets away with it.

“Come on, padawan. You’re safe now. You don’t have to stay here with this kidnapper.” Drogan snapped.

“You better back the fu-” It happened suddenly. One moment he was raising his blaster and the next he was catching his balance after being pushed a few feet down the road by the female jetii. A green light erupted from the cylinder Haati had summoned to his left hand as his right was raised toward the female jetii he'd pushed to the ground with the Force.

“My name is Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. Son of Drogan Kurshi’cin. I am Mando’ad, and you are not welcome here aruetii!” Drogan felt a burst of pride for his son.

Stalking forward he stepped up to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You heard my son jetiise! You are not welcome here.” The female jetii stood up and glared at him, pulling out her lightsaber without touching it. Drogan stiffened but Haati stood there, calm and unmoving.

“Chandara, put it away.” The lead male hissed before turning back to them.

“Are you sure about this Jus- Haati? If you leave the Order we will not welcome you back.” There was a slightly threatening warning in his voice but Drogan didn’t rise to the bait. He stared the man down, certain that his son would handle the situation.

“I am Mando’ad.” He reiterated, voice unwavering. The three jetii looked to each other for a moment before the lead male sighed.

“I will inform the council of your decision. Our mission was to find you, we’ve accomplished that mission.” His focused shifted to Drogan and he scowled, but thankfully didn’t speak. Every gun remained trained on their backs as they slowly made their way back out of town. Once they were finally out of sight Drogan sagged slightly. Holstering his blaster he looked down at the remains of the groceries and cursed. Haati shifted under his hand and he looked back at his son.

The boy was staring at the cylinder in his hand and smiling contentedly. He supposed he’d be looking at his verpine sniper rifle the same way if ever he forgot what his favourite weapon was and hadn’t held one in months. Around them Mando’ade were staring at the boy with curiosity, confusion, contempt, or a mix of all three. It wouldn’t take long for the news to spread that Kurshi’cin now had a jetii in the family. Whether that would be a good or bad thing he didn’t know.

“Put it away, Haati. We need to pick up replacement groceries and visit your ba’vodu.” Seeming to snap out of whatever trance he was in his son put the lightsaber into one of the pouches on his belt. At least the bag Haati had been holding had nothing breakable in it, thankfully.

It was a little awkward to go back and re-buy the groceries, with everyone staring at his son with mixed feelings. Haati seemed able to sense it and after one particularly nasty glare he put his helmet on to hide his face. Drogan felt an almost uncontrollable urge to punch someone but he refrained. If he caused more trouble now it would reflect poorly on their clan. It wouldn’t help the situation any.

The walk home was quiet, both of them thinking over what had just happened. Drogan knew that the fact Haati was a jetii was a surprise to the boy as much as everyone else. He wanted to reassure his son but there was nothing he could say to change the truth. Haati was a former jetii and had the Force.

Entering his sister’s home he saw the family waiting to congratulate him on his armor and waved them down. The expression on his face must have been grim. Dral’buir was up from his seat in seconds. Drogan steered Haati toward the kitchen to help put the groceries away. He had yet to remove his helmet.

 _“What happened between here and town?”_ Dral’buir asked, following him into the kitchen.

 _“Not out of town, in town. We were ambushed by jetii.”_ Dral’buir’s face could have been chiseled from stone it hardened so fast.

 _“Why the fuck would jetii ambush you!?”_ Drogan looked back at Haati and sighed.

“Helmet off in the house, Haat’ika.” He hunched his shoulders for a moment but quickly slipped the helmet off and clipped it to his waist. “Good lad.”

 _“Because they were looking for Haati. He was a jetii before I found him.”_ Dral’buir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he looked past Drogan to the boy who looked conflicted and hurt.

 _“Get your mother.”_ Drogan wanted to protest but one look was all it took.

In the main room he has headed for his mother when he spied Taylin leaning against a wall. _“You fucker, you knew and didn’t tell me!”_ He hissed as he passed. His brother gave him an unreadable look.

 _“I knew. As long as he didn’t remember I thought it would be fine… I’m sorry.”_ Drogan swallowed but gave him an accepting nod.

 _“Tian’buir, Dral’buir asked for you in the kitchen.”_ His mother looked up at him, concerned, but silently went to go see what was wrong. The kids were looking between the adults, mostly quiet, as they sensed the heavy atmosphere.

A few minutes later they brought Haati back out and he was looking less like the world had caved in on him. He ran over to Drogan and launched himself into his arms. There was a loud clank as two armors forcefully met but he didn’t care. He pulled his son into a hug and placed a hand on his head. He looked from his father to his mother and back, confused.

 _“He was worried you wouldn’t like him anymore. He’s still only a boy, and who knows what the jetii put in his head that he can’t remember.”_ His father said with a scowl. Drogan couldn’t help the offended look on his face. Of course he wouldn’t turn his back on his son!

“Haat’ika, listen to me.” A sniffle came from where his son had hidden his face. “There is nothing in the entire galaxy that could make me stop loving you. No one will take you from me, do you understand?” Two puffy eyes looked up at him and he smiled. “I’m proud of you. You stood up to the jetii like a proper Mando’ad.” Dral’buir’s brows raised in question and Drogan chuckled.

“He told the jetii that his name was Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. That he was my son and a Mando’ad. Then he told the jetii they were aruetii and weren’t welcome here.” Dral’buir burst into laughter, grinning ear to ear.

“Mandokarla! You were born to be Mando’ad.” Haati blushed, wiping at his eyes then frowning when he realized he was still wearing the vambrace.Drogan snorted and grabbed a handkerchief from one of his pouches, handing it to his son to wipe his face with.

“Come on Haat’ika. We thought today would be a good day to celebrate your birthday. If you remember later we can always change the date.” Haati stood up and let out a huff.

“Okay.” He looked at his cousins and then back at Drogan. His hand tapped the pocket where he was keeping his lightsaber and he tilted his head.

“Later. You can show off later.” The smirk on his face must have been enough to set his son’s mind at ease about whether Drogan accepted this new and strange part of his son’s life or not.

“Come on, ad’ike. It’s time to celebrate! Today is Haati’s gota’tuur!” The children cheered and clung to Haati’s arms excitedly, dragging him off with Dral’buir to play games. Drogan watched them from his seat on the couch and let out a sigh.

 _“It’s not the same, is it?”_ He looked over at is mother, who smiled. _“Before kids and after. Nothing can compare.”_ He smiled back. She was right. There was something just so right about having Haati in his life. He doubted anyone else would ever come close to the amount of affection he had for his son.

 _“Now you just need a nice partner.”_ He groaned and ran his hand down his face as his mother laughed at him.


	9. Professional Artwork: Drogan and Haati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT a new chapter. Enjoy~

Artwork by the absolutely wonderful [PeachyProtist](https://www.deviantart.com/peachyprotist) on DeviantArt! Please go check them out!  



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